


Castiel vs the Pit of Voles

by tawg



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, cleaned-up comment fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-15
Updated: 2012-06-15
Packaged: 2017-11-07 19:30:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/434574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tawg/pseuds/tawg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean thinks that there's nothing worse than Cas reading The Winchester Gospels. Then Sam mentions fandom and the two brothers discover that yes, there is something worse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Castiel vs the Pit of Voles

Dean was completely mortified when he found out that his angel read the Winchester gospels. Sam at least managed to distract himself with how ridiculous the game that sprung up between Dean and Cas was. Dean snatched the first book out of Castiel’s hands, poured a line of salt down the middle of the book, dropped on the ground, and set fire to it. 

When a police officer came over to let Dean know that it wasn’t fire season, and that a playground is not an appropriate place for litter-burning, sir, Castiel had no problem in explaining that Dean had stolen his property and ignited it. He also had no problem in letting the officer drag Dean away when he started swearing. And, when Sam finally got Dean out of the police station (before being processed, thank god), they got back to the hotel room to find Cas sitting on the one chair, his feet propped up on Dean’s bed, reading _‘Route 666’_ with a relaxed air.

It went downhill from there.

Sam figured that it was just Castiel trying to find some tie to Heaven, since he was cut off from Angel Radio. Dean thought it was creepy that a falling angel was working his way through the series at an obsessive rate. “I mean, if anything, those books are just going to make him fall faster.”

*

“It is rare for an angel to read a gospel in the first edition,” Castiel explained when Sam was nominated to talk him out of his new hobby. “I had always assumed that the mistakes in the telling came from errors of translation and changes made due to evolving morals,” Castiel was still reading the book, a look of morbid fascination on his face. “I never knew a prophet could be so _wrong_ in transcribing their prophesies.”

Sam furrowed his brow. “What? I mean, I know the writing isn’t exactly good, but...”

“ _‘Dean raised his sea-green eyes to the heavens, spackled with brown the colour rich, fertile earth, and ringed with a heavy line of purple-blue around the iris’,_ ” Castiel read.

“Okay, there’s some artistic licence there,” Sam started, but Castiel was already flicking to another section.

“ _‘Sam stretched his long limbs, his gargantuan frame protesting from his time sitting still. Sam was beyond tall. Like the oldest oaks in a forest Sam was solid, heavy, and ringed with grime like an unwashed coffee mug.’_ ”

“... I don’t even know what that means.”

Castiel flicked his eyes up from his book, and gave Sam a long, penetrating stare. “You don’t look like a mug,” he said at last.

“That’s good to know,” Sam replied.

Castiel looked down at the book, shaking his head, and Sam made a mental note to tell Dean later about the new piece of body language added to Castiel’s repertoire. “I don’t understand how a man blessed with visions from God himself can be so lacking in accuracy. This book describes you as brave when you weren’t, as cunning when you were merely lucky.”

“Well-”

“The texts vastly misrepresent your skills at not getting killed,” Castiel said flatly. “Your sense of loyalty, even basic intellect is-”

Sam huffed in annoyance, making Castiel pause. “Look,” Sam said. “Personally, I think those books are trash. But he did an okay job for a puppet of the Lord. And there have been people who have misrepresented us even more.”

Castiel leaned forwards, his eyes intent. “There are other gospels of you and your brother?”

“What? No. Nothing like that. Just, you know, other people who have read the books and stuff. There’s some stuff out there that those people wrote, and it really lets you know how much worse it could have been.”

Castiel’s eyes narrowed. “Where are these false prophecies found?” he asked. It figured that an angel of the Lord wouldn’t be too thrilled with the unofficial takes on the adventures of Sam ‘n’ Dean. Most of the Heavenly choir didn’t like the official version as it was.

“They’re not... It’s just people on the internet, having too much time on their hands,” Sam explained. “Seriously, don’t look it up. Dean would disown you if he found you reading fanfic.”

Castiel nodded slowly, but he had the look of his face that suggested that he was locking every detail into his mind for later perusal. Sam just hoped that Dean never found out about this conversation.

*

Several nights later, Sam was woken by the dull glow of a screen. “Dean,” he mumbled, flailing an arm in his brother’s direction. “TV off.”

“Fuck you and your laptop,” Dean slurred back, his face pressed into his pillow.

Sam grumbled, thinking that he must have left his laptop on, and sat up in bed. Castiel was using it, his back to Sam, a slumped silhouette blocking a clear view of flashing screens. His fingertips were lightly resting on the sides of the laptop, and Sam was about to tell him that’s not how you use a computer when his brain caught up, and he realised that it was probably irrelevant information.

“Cas,” he mumbled, pushing his hair out of his face with one hand. “What’re y’doin’?”

“Research.”

Sam glanced at the clock beside his bed, squinting to make the numbers out in the dark. “S’middle of the night,” he whined. “Go t’ sleep.”

“I don’t sleep,” Castiel replied gruffly.

“Liar, liar,” Dean mumbled into his pillow.

Sam flopped back down onto his bed with a grunt. “Take that somewhere else,” he said, rolling onto his side away from the light. He heard the completely normal sounds of someone closing a laptop, unplugging it, and scuffing their feet a little as they left the room.

“Almost miss the wings,” he said as he felt sleep coaxing him back to her bosom.

Dean threw a shirt at him, and Sam shut up.

*

Sam had all but forgotten his conversation with Cas about the novels when Dean idly commented, “Glad to see he ditched the books.” Sam considered the observation, and realised that he hadn’t seen Cas with one of those awful, taunting books for a week.

He turned to Cas, who had stolen Sam’s laptop earlier that morning and was sitting quietly in the backseat, staring at its screen with the kind of unblinking devotion only an angel possesses. “Yeah Cas, you get sick of them?”

“I finished the official gospels,” Castiel replied absently. Sam and Dean exchanged a look of relief. “I am now devoting myself to the supplemental materials.”

Sam froze, and the whole conversation came flooding back. Dean glanced over at him, and did a double take when he saw Sam’s stricken look. “What?” he asked. “What ‘supplemental materials’? Sam? Sam!?”

“I, uh, may have mentioned...”

“You didn’t. You did _not_ tell an angel to go read fanfic.” The Impala swerved across the road and Dean gestured wildly. “You did not do something stupid and creepy and oh Jesus Sam, _why_ did you tell him about that? Hooking up with another demon would have been smarter!”

“Look,” Sam said stiffly. “Just ignore him and he’ll grow out of it.”

“Dean,” Cas called from the backseat. “Is your body the same to your eyes as it was before your ascension into hell?”

“My what?” Dean stumbled to catch up with the sudden change in conversation. “Yeah, I guess so. Aside from your freaking signature on my shoulder.”

Castiel nodded absently. “When I was revitalising your flesh, I would not have described your genitals as ‘astounding’,” he said, as if this were a normal conversation that normal people had without gouging their normal people eyes out. “But I suppose it’s a more applicable descriptor than that given to Sam’s.”

There was a long, painful pause in the car. The war between the instincts screaming ‘you don’t want to know’, and those screaming ‘you _have_ to know’. Dean tightened his grip on the steering wheel. Sam bit his tongue, and bounced his teeth on the flesh to keep himself from speaking. A bead of sweat trickled down over his temple.

Dean cracked first. “What-?”

“I would not describe your penis as ‘equine’, Sam,” Castiel said without looking up from the screen. 

Sam didn’t know what was worse – those words on Castiel’s mouth, the dizzy feeling that he could only assume was the sensation of dying of mortification, or Dean’s protests about biased fangirls and misrepresentations of size.

No, Sam realised as they pulled into town. The worst part was when Castiel abandoned the conversation and began typing.

“I hope you’re correcting those idiots,” Dean called over his shoulder. “Smite them for me.”

“I was just challenged by someone called Samlicker81,” Castiel said calmly.

“What, like a duel?”

“She told me to write a fic myself if I had so many complaints about hers.” Sam buried his face in his hands, and Dean looked away from the road just long enough to hit his forehead against the steering wheel, twice.

“What do you think sounds better,” Castiel asked as they pulled into the parking lot of the cheapest looking motel they could find. “Enlarged, or engorged?”

“This is your fault,” Dean said flatly to Sam. “That means you get to room with him.”

“Wait, what?”

“You can check his grammar or something,” Dean said hauling himself out of the car. “Make sure he doesn’t jizz up your keyboard.”

“What? No, Dean!”

“It’s okay, Sam,” Castiel said, still typing furiously, still completely lacking in concern. “I have only masturbated to fanfic twice, and your computer is unharmed.”

*

Dean was mortified when he found out their angel was reading the Winchester gospels. But it was Sam who never quite recovered.


End file.
